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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362945">When I'm Alone I Think of Ways to Tell You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writings_of_a_Hufflepuff/pseuds/Writings_of_a_Hufflepuff'>Writings_of_a_Hufflepuff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mentalist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Female Identifying reader, a little bit of angst because marcus and reader both worry about, but really its just fluffy goodness, pushing the other to go too fast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:27:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writings_of_a_Hufflepuff/pseuds/Writings_of_a_Hufflepuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus doesn’t want to rush things, every time he’s done that it’s ended in divorce or break up. But, he loves you and god, he wants you to know that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marcus Pike/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When I'm Alone I Think of Ways to Tell You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I haven’t watched the Mentalist but I did watch a compilation video of all Pedro’s scenes as Marcus and fell in love with this sweet man who deserved better. This was supposed to just be a prompt, but it...is now over 4000 words long so...<br/>I’ve never written for Marcus before so i’m hoping it’s good and not absolute crap...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>He’s not been lucky in love. One divorce, a failed engagement, and a few bad break ups in between. Marcus Pike can’t seem to catch a break, by now he should be hard-hearted, shouldn’t fall so easily, so fast, or so deep. But, he can’t help it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Like every other woman he’s fallen for you, captured him, mind, body and soul and he can’t stop himself from making the mistakes he’s made a million times over. Rushing in too fast, putting his all in, placing his heart on a silver platter for you to see. He’s not good at hiding his emotions, feigning disinterest. He doesn’t play games with love. If he loves someone, he loves them and they’re going to know because he can’t contain it within himself. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s sure it’s what ruined his marriage. They married young, he was desperately in love, but it didn’t take long for reality to set in, at least for his ex-wife. Then his engagement. Maybe he’d pushed too much, gone too fast. Should he have asked her to move to DC with him? Should he have asked her to marry him? Maybe he should have waited. But, it wasn’t in him to do that. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So when you come along with your bright smile and soft heart, he knows, without a shadow of a doubt that he will make the same mistake again but he hopes this time it won’t be a mistake. He hopes that this time when he says how he feels, when he opens up his chest and hands you his heart you’ll be just as in this as he is. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So he lies awake at night even after a long case hunting down art thieves and forgers, and he thinks of ways to tell you just how deeply he loves you. He’s always loved deeply, always felt that ache in his chest, that all consuming longing for the person that never goes away. But this time feels different, this time he’s sure it’s worse. The desire to see you all the time, to phone you the moment he gets back off a case, to ask how your day is, to just be around you even if neither of you are talking. He’s sure he loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone else and that makes him hesitate. It makes him think of the best way to tell you, rather than just telling you like he normally would.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He decides the best thing to do is show you. Show you through actions, through things he’s remembered. So when he asks if you want to go out on a date Saturday(your 58th at this point, not that he’s counting), it’s not just a date between him and his girlfriend, it’s more than that. It’s a plan to show you what he knows about you, how much he cares, so that when he tells you those 3 words, you don’t run into the hills. The broken part of him thinks you just might. The part that’s been trodden on too many times. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Marcus had been typically mysterious and evasive when you asked how you should dress for your date. The man was a hopeless romantic, one of the many things you loved about him. The very idea of you knowing where he was taking you horrified him, you always had to be surprised and you always were. You’d never thought you’d like it as much as you do, being surprised, wooed like that, but you really do. It’s always a good surprise, always something that makes you smile, sometimes it makes you tear up and sometimes it makes you tackle him in a hug. But, it is always, always something which makes your heart hurt in the best sort of way. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You’d dressed up nice, nothing too impractical, but still nice. Comfortable. Something you could move in in case he was taking you dancing or to do something crazy. Knowing Marcus he’d have a spare change of clothes for you in his car, just in case, ever prepared and always wanting to make sure you’re comfortable and safe. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You’re collecting your things: purse, phone and keys, when a rhythmic knock sounds at your door. You glance at the clock, 5 O’Clock on the dot, and smile. He’s always perfectly punctual, the few times he’s been late because of work he apologised until you gave him a talking too about saying sorry over 20 times. It’s a reassuring quality about him, that he cares enough to be there when he’s supposed to be, that he’s only not if something has happened and then he will always text you, call or let you know before he’s even late that it’s going to happen. It’s a reminder of how much he cares, how much your boyfriend wants to be with you. He doesn’t tolerate you, he actively wants to be around you. Something not all your past boyfriends have felt. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s stood at your door dressed smartly, handsome as ever in a white button up, nice slacks, that beard he’d kept after you’d said how much it suited him, nicely trimmed. His hands are full, a large bouquet of all your favourite flowers almost blocking his face. It makes you want to sigh happily because how did you get so lucky that after a year of dating he’s still just as attentive, sweet, and loving as he was when you first met. By now, most men have given up, their romantic bone has disappeared, but not Marcus. He was like a character out of a novel, always romantic, always sweet, even at his most tired or dower. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hi, honey.” Marcus says watching you with a soft smile, head leaning around the bouquet to see you. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Marcus.... You didn’t have to.” You say it every time. You don’t have to bring me flowers, you’d say, but every time he still does and every time, just like now, you take them from him, smell them before bringing them inside to put in a vase on the table. He follows you, watching you trim the stems carefully and lovingly arrange them in the vase. The corners of his mouth turn upwards, eyes softening as he watches you. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I wanted to, sweetheart. You’ve been having a rough time at work...I just want to make you smile.” He says it as he comes up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and chin resting on the crown of your head as you fiddle with the flowers.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You always make me smile,” You say with your own smile turned towards him, moving your head to the side so that you can press a kiss to his cheek. He never fails to make your heart sing, to bring a smile to your face even when you’ve been crying or when you’re angry or frustrated about something. He just has to turn up and be himself and that’s all. Nothing more and nothing less. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s my job, sweetheart.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You turn away from the flowers, twisting in his arms to face him. Leaning up to press one, then another quick kiss to his lips. The familiar sensation of his beard tickling your skin. His lips parting to deepen the kiss, hands wrapping around your hips to pull you closer. You sigh into his mouth, the kiss feels like coming home, it always does. One of these days you just need to bite the bullet and ask him to move in with you, you think. To come home every day to him, to wake up to his smile, that was what heaven must feel like. But, you were holding off, trying not to rush him, especially given his history. He had a lot of failed relationships, you knew he was hesitant to rush into things and you didn’t want to pressure him to go too fast. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“As much as I’d love to just stay here and kiss you, I think we should probably get going, baby.” You pull away from him with a smile, hand cupping his cheek. You know he had something nice planned and you don’t want to ruin those plans by staying in and making out even if you adore doing that. You were eager to see what he had in mind, especially given the fact that every date he’d ever taken you on had been pulled out of a romantic comedy or hallmark movie. The man just always knew where to take you, what to show you, and how to treat you. It’s one of the many things that had you falling in love with him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He lets out a heavy sigh, hands coming up to rub your arms, “You’re right…” with a reluctance you pull away from each other.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You grab your things, make sure the door is locked on the way out and walk to his car. The drive is quiet through DC and you recognise many buildings as you drive past. You wonder which he’ll take you to tonight. Sometimes it’s a movie, there’s a theatre he likes best that plays the classic black and white movies like Casablanca as well as early coloured movies like Support Your Local Sheriff. Sometimes, it’s a museum either one that caters to your interests or an art museum to cater to his, you don’t mind the later, you enjoy listening to him talk and the art is always beautiful. Sometimes it’s a nice restaurant or a sweet little café. Or something a little different, taking you to pick pumpkins or help pick out his Christmas tree. There is no end to the possibilities with Marcus, something which never fails to amaze and excite you. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You pull up in a car park not particularly near or far to anything of note, but Marcus tells you you’ll have to walk a little bit to where he plans to take you. You don’t mind, it’s relatively warm this evening and the breeze makes you feel more awake as you walk hand in hand down the pavement. His thumb strokes the back of your hand in a repetitive pattern that is soothing and makes your shoulders relax further. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Marcus has always made you feel safe. There has never been a moment that you’ve felt unsafe or uncomfortable with him, he’s a rock, a safe harbour, a security blanket. There is no doubt in your mind that he would never just let something bad happen to you, that he is more than capable of protecting you and while you like to think you can look after yourself. It is nice to know without a doubt that you have someone looking out for you, making sure you’re okay too. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You look beautiful in the afternoon sun, but then you always look beautiful. The light shines off your eyes, illuminates the smile on your face and he thinks there might be a poem somewhere in the back of his mind that explains this phenomenon, but he’s too engrossed in you to hunt around in his mind for it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He pulls you to a stop in front of the National Museum of Women in the Arts, one of your favourite museums and you can’t help but smile. You hadn’t had the time to visit in months and had no idea what exhibits were on or which pieces they currently had on display. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know it’s your favourite museum, honey, and they have an exhibit on revolutionary era French art at the moment. I know you’re going to love Angelique Mongez’s work for sure...unless, I know we do museums a lot…” He suddenly feels unsure. How many times has he taken you to view art? How many times at this specific museum? What if you wanted to do something else? Maybe this was a terrible idea…</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I love it, Marcus,” You cup his face with your hands, smiling softly at his worry, “I don’t mind what we do as long as i’m with you, baby.” You mean it. He could take you for a walk in a muddy field in the middle of winter and so long as you were with him you wouldn’t mind. He was what made the dates, not the location. Besides, this was your favourite museum and you loved the romantic nature and style of 18th century paintings.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’d been right. Angelique Mongez’s painting of<a href="https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwomeninthearts.files.wordpress.com%2F2012%2F03%2Fmongezmars-and-venus.gif&amp;t=NmRlYjQ4ZDZjOGUyNzUzYWVjMzJiMWNiMjBjYWJiODZhYzk1NWJjMiw4MThmYjA2NGMzNThlN2UzODIyNDJkMDRkNGU3NmVmMDM4NGM4N2M1&amp;ts=1609086782"> Mars and Venus</a> had you captured. Soft and sweet, a gentle tenderness in it that you marvelled at. It had you captured from the moment you stood in front of it. All the paintings in the exhibit had their own beauty, of course, but Marcus always seemed to know what paintings and artists you’d love most. This one was...you weren’t sure why you loved it exactly, just that it drew you in. Perhaps it was the softness of the faces or maybe it was the longing poses or the fluffy nature of the clouds. Or maybe it was a little bit of everything. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You found yourself standing in front of it the longest, leaning into Marcus’ side as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“They think it’s just an autograph version, not the original, you know...although some think, it’s the same but she just covered Mars up. Apparently, he was originally nude.” Marcus as always knows more about the art than you, but you enjoy learning from him, enjoy the bright look in his eyes when you look up at him, the passion that brings out the dimples in his cheeks and the lines around his eyes. He’s so passionate about art and it never ceases to capture your interest or make your heart beat just a little bit faster. He’s passionate about a lot of things and it looks good on him. Always. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I wonder why they’d cover him up?” You can imagine it, how the painting would look without the heavy tunic. You think it might look better, have more softness to it, the tunic almost feels out of place, too much compared to Venus’ soft chiton. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Social pressure, maybe? A female artist painting a man nude? Or maybe they liked the tunic idea more, a bit more classical?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You look up at him with a raised brow, “Have you seen the number of brothels in Pompeii and the frescos there? Isn’t nudity inherently classical?” You think back to the menus of Roman brothel walls, the inherent nudity in so many aspects of classical art and life. It seems prudish to cover it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Now, you’re just speaking my language, sweetheart.” You laugh, knowing Marcus enjoys when you share your own knowledge and passions. He enjoys when you take the role of knowledge giver or tour guide or teacher, just like you enjoy his passion for art, you’re sure he enjoys your passion for history and other subjects. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You both turn back to the painting again and you’re still struck by how right he was. How much you like it compared to the other examples in the exhibit. “You know, I’m starting to think you might have some sort of super power.” You say to him, tightening your arm around his waist, squeezing his side lightly. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mmm?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You always know which one’s I’ll like best, maybe I should start calling you Art Man and make you a costume,” You tease, biting your lip at your own ridiculous joke. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Or maybe, I just know what my baby likes?” You look down biting your lip, somehow, after a year of dating he still manages to make you bashful. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You stay there a little while longer before Marcus tells you he’s made reservations for dinner, it’s that announcement that makes you realise just how hungry you’ve gotten in the time since you arrived at the museum. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Your stomach growls and you give your boyfriend a sheepish smile, he laughs as the two of you walk back outside and you follow once more. Arm through his as you make your way down the street, you wonder where he’s booked. In all your other relationships they very rarely made reservations for dinner, it was always a rush to find somewhere that had space. But, Marcus has always thought ahead, always made reservations, and always been happy to cancel them if you changed your mind about going out for dinner. Every little thing he did showed how much thought he put into his relationship with you, you hope you put as much thought into it for him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s a little Italian place that you’ve never seen before, you’re ushered in and past the diners downstairs, up a staircase and out onto the roof. It is quiet, empty, no one else up here, just you and Marcus on a sweet little table surrounded by fairy lights that trail over the wood pergola covered in climbing plants. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wow…” Marcus pulls out your chair for you as you gaze around the rooftop, it’s beautiful. Quiet, intimate, something that makes your chest ache with happiness. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He slides the chair in behind you and waits for you to sit before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Only after he’s happy that you’re seated comfortably does your boyfriend sit across from you. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s always beautiful. Marcus Pike was handsome, incredibly so, and always had been. But, the soft lighting made his brown eyes glow, his hair shine, and his skin deepen in tone. He looked like he’d stepped out of a storybook, most days you can’t comprehend how lucky you are to have him, that he chose you after everything he’d been through. It seemed a miracle that he still had that softness to him, that romantic heart that hadn’t broken or cracked completely, just needed time to heal.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Marcus, this is...this is beautiful. How on earth am I supposed to top this when I take you on our next date?” You really don’t know what you could do to one up this dinner, maybe a carriage ride through the country or a private picnic set up in his favourite art gallery. He is better at being romantic than you, but you try every time because he deserves to be wooed too, he deserves to be treated with love and affection, to be given something soft and sweet. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I...I wanted to make tonight special for you.” He doesn’t elaborate, mostly because he can already feel the nerves kicking in, the sweat on his brow, the flush to his cheeks. He always wants date night to go well, but tonight, tonight he has the words to say and it should be special, it should be romantic and it should be without the pressure of 20 other diners sitting around you. Part of the reason he asked the restaurant owner to reserve the whole rooftop for them, part of the reason he was paying a fee for it when he could have just sat up here with you amongst the others visiting the restaurant. But, he’d wanted privacy, so you didn’t feel pressured into reciprocating or feel embarrassed. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Marcus…” You reach across the table to hold his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers and giving a loving squeeze, “every night with you is special, you know that. I’m just happy to be around you, we could have sat in and ordered pizza and I still would have loved tonight.” You mean it. Every minute with Marcus is special, loving, comfortable, safe, and exciting all in one bundle. You just want to be around him, whether it’s a magical night out or a simple night in doesn’t really matter all that much, although you definitely appreciate the effort he’s gone through. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You chat about work, friends, and family while you wait for your food and drinks to arrive. He’s busy with a massive case, a Rembrandt having been stolen and potentially shipped off to Europe. He’s been busy liaising with Interpol to find the painting and you know it’s had him stressed. It’s a big case. You’re dealing with a few nuisance colleagues at work who keep eating your lunch and making snide comments, you tell him how you’re contemplating looking for a job at a different company, maybe a change of pace will help. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The food is predictably delicious. You doubted it would be anything but wonderful. It fills your stomach and warms you from the inside out. Everything is perfect, the soft way he looks on you with those brown eyes, the strand of his hair that’s fallen across his forehead, the dimples in his cheeks, the soft lights, the gentle music that’s playing across the rooftop, the way you feel full of love. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so content and at peace in your whole life. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That spell is broken by his nervousness though. You notice it quickly, the way Marcus fidgets with his napkin, the sweat he wipes from his brow, the nervous dart of his eyes, the flush to his cheeks, and that terrible habit he has of biting his lip. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Baby, what’s wrong?” You’re instantly concerned. Why is he so nervous? What’s going on in that brain of his? How can you help? </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I...I…” He curses his past experiences with love in that moment. He’s never been shy, or nervous before. He’s always been the one who says I love you without a thought or worry, without pretense, but this is different. There’s a broken little part of him that thinks this is the moment you leave him, like so many others. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>You reach across the table for his hand, for the second time that evening. Holding it tightly, reassuring squeezes pulling him back into the present and away from failed romances in his past. Your eyes are so soft and you are so beautiful. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I love you and it’s okay if you’re not ready to say it or don’t feel like that either, honey, but I...I just. I love you so much and I can’t imagine not having you in my life. I just wanted you to...to know how much I love you.” He’s sure this is the moment you’ll run away because he’s gone too fast, is a year too soon to tell someone you love them? Should he have waited? It’s too late to take it back and he wouldn’t anyway. He does love you and if you’re not okay with that then, then he’ll have to accept that he’s not meant to be loved. That it never works out for him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But you don’t get up and run away from him or scream at him or even hesitate, there is no waiting time between his final words and your response. You’re not phased, there is no shock or discomfort.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Move in with me? Or I can move in with you? I...Marcus,” It’s not the response he expects. It pulls him from his worry, though his brow still furrows because you want to live with him? “I love you too, baby. I love you so much...and I don’t want to say goodnight to you and go to separate houses. I want to wake up to you in the morning and welcome you home after a case...I love you so much.” You squeeze his hand tight and smile brightly at him because god, you love him and it feels so good to know that he loves you too. That you’re not moving too fast for him. It feels a little like a dream, with the soft lighting and the warm breeze. Like you should wake up at any moment to your empty bed at home, him still on a case in another part of the country, but you don’t. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Really? You...you want to live with me?” He’s so unsure that it breaks your heart and makes you want to curse at the women before who’ve made him so worried about taking these steps with you. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, baby. I can move into yours or you can move to mine, it’s up to you or we can stay as is. I don’t want to pressure you.” You don’t want him to feel pressured. You don’t want him to feel like he has to let you into his space or has to move into your space. I love you was a big step, moving another one entirely and he didn’t have to do it yet if he wasn’t ready. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We’re really doing this?” His smile is so wide, his dimples the most prominent you’ve ever seen them, as he stands from his chair to come around to your side of the table. It’s that absolutely radiant smile, the pure, sweet happiness that comes off of him that reassures you that he wants this. He wants to live with you and you’re not pushing him too fast. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“If you want” You grin at him as he helps you up from your chair. It’s so sweet and delicate the way he holds your hand and asks you to stand without words, but that sweetness is counteracted immediately by the hard press of his lips against yours. There’s something so desperate about it, his hands are in your hair, fingers twisted in the strands of it. His nose is pressed into your cheek, yours mirroring his own, his mouth slanted over yours, a firm press, an eager opening of his mouth to match your own. Your normal kisses are sweet and slow, soft and delicate, but this is all those feelings of love and passion put into one single touch that has you grasping at his shoulders desperate to have him closer. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he pulls away his nose nuzzles against your cheek, a soft kiss placed there before he rests his forehead against your own. He doesn’t want to be far away from you, just wants to be close. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s in that moment that he realises how silly he was to be worried. He never had to agonise over how to tell you or worry that he was going too fast. You were always on the same level, always going at the same pace, the whole entire time.</p>
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